Walk a Mile on My Route
by Kelonzi
Summary: The Newsies encounter a high-class kid who's only talent appears to be whining, until a sudden injury turns the tables on him. What'll happen when Joe Rich Kid is forced to be the average Working Joe? Complete! Poss. sequel..
1. Break Off

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
Walk A Mile on My Route  
  
* Part 1 *

  
The rhythmic, measured pace of a horse's hooves against the cobblestone pavement was enough to put any bloke to sleep. It was getting so bad that Racetrack had to fight to keep his head from sagging back against the brick wall behind him. Slipping off into dreamland didn't get your papes sold, he knew, but the lure of catching a few winks was hard to resist.  
  
"'Ey, Sleepin' Beauty, yous just gonna sit dere all day?"  
  
"Lemme alone, Mush. I ain't in da mood."  
  
Chuckling, the brown-haired Newsie, affectionately nicknamed Mush, due to his tendency to go all gooey around pretty girls, crossed his arms and shook his head.   
  
Taking his friend's silence to indicate submission, Racetrack settled back down, cap pulled low over his eyes. Just as he was on the verge of sleep once again, however, the cap was yanked off his head. Sticking a hand up to block out the sun, Race took off after the cap-snatcher. "Mush!!! I'll get ya for dat!"  
  
As the two boys raced off, they just missed catching sight of a fine carriage plodding through the streets. The late afternoon sun glimmered off the chrome headlights as two perfectly matched stallions threw their heads, snuffling the stale New York City air in distaste. The inhabitants of the carriage appeared to echo the sentiments of the horses. A very well dressed family stepped out, a father, son, and wife, their nostrils instantly  
offended by the 'fragrant' air.  
  
"Mercy." The woman, decked out in a crisp white muslin dress, instantly snatched up a lace handkerchief and held it to her nose. "Bless us and save us! This city will be my death. Stanley, darling? Must we stop right here?"  
  
A stately looking man with a neatly trimmed mustache brushed a thin layer of dust from the back of the first horse. "Not long, Beulah. I just have to stop a moment at the store. You could have always waited in the carriage." His voice betrayed the smallest amount of annoyance.  
  
"Father, I don't like it here." The little boy whined, clinging to his mother's sleeve. "I want to go home now."  
  
"In a moment, Antoine."  
  
"NOW!" He persisted.  
  
Stanley stiffened. "What have I told you about such behavior in public?"  
  
"NOW NOW NOW!"  
  
Racetrack rounded the corner, hat planted firmly back on his head after rescuing it from Mush's hands. He was instantly brought up short by what he saw... and moreso by what he heard. _Dear me. Looks like we'se got a case ah spoiled brat on our 'ands. Wonder why dey don't jest slap da little scab an' be done wid it._  
  
"NOW!"  
  
The older man Race had noticed, turned abruptly on his heel and marched into the general store. Almost at the same time, the woman stepped back into the carriage, slamming the door behind her.   
  
_If da parents don't wanna deal wid deir own kid, I will._ Race casually walked over, approaching the tantrum terror from behind. He was right on top of the boy before ever uttering a sound. "Wanna buy a pape, kid?"  
  
"'Pape'?" The child spit the word out as if it were an overly ripe lemon. "No, I don't want to buy one of your filthy papers. Now kindly leave here before I---"  
  
"Before ya what? Pout me ta death?" Race chuckled. "I'm shakin'."  
  
"Leave. Now."   
  
"Free sidewalk--" Race started to speak and then scratched his head. "Can't say as I caught ya name, kid."  
  
"You're a Newsie, right? My grandfather owns a large factory in Philadelphia. I have money. Lots of it. What have you got, Newsie?"  
  
A second set of hands clamped themselves on the boy's shoulders. "Friends. Which I can't say as you 'ave any of, Antoine."  
  
Race chuckled. "Heya Jack. 'Antoine' 'ere was jest sayin' 'ow 'e owns 'alfa somethin' called Phila Del Phia."  
  
"Dat so?" Jack Kelly pulled his cowboy hat up onto his head, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes.  
  
"I remember you! Disgusting little ruffian. I should have known you would be associated with this thing." Antoine pointed to Racetrack.  
  
"Ouch. Now dat hurt." Race laughed.  
  
"You tried to steal from my mother yesterday." Antoine glared at Jack. Jack shrugged. "If dat's whatcha wanna call it, sure." He began walking in a slow circle around the rich socialite, lessening the distance between them with each pass.  
  
"That's exactly what I'd call it."  
  
"Den explain ta me 'ow she 'as 'er purse right now?" Jack stopped in his tracks, directly behind Antoine. "If I wanted it so bad," he leaned in, "it was pretty dumb a'me ta jest give it back like dat. Now... _dis_ would be stealin'." He snatched the wallet out of Antoine's back pocket and tossed it to Racetrack.  
  
"Hey! Give that back!"  
  
Racetrack and Jack took off down the street, rounded the corner of a narrow alleyway and disappeared. Antoine took off in hot pursuit, catching fleeting glimpses of the boys as he ran. He laughed when he realized something. This alley was a dead end. It paid to have an _actual_ education. Those street kids would run straight into a brick wall or something -- signed, sealed, and delivered for the police.  
  
The end of the road lay dead ahead and Antoine could almost hear the bailiff announcing Jack Kelly's jail sentence. At least, he could until both boys suddenly leapt into the air, scaled the wall, and landed safely on the other side. Antoine swore over his rotten luck, tripped on the uneven cobblestones, and landed face first in a pile of trash. He attempted to push himself to his feet, but a large gash on his forehead had other plans. Darkness closed in around him, and his body went limp.   
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Antoine came to slowly, only to find two particularly nasty looking street boys standing over him. _Uh-oh.._  
  
"Now what's dis?" Oscar Delancy kicked at Antoine's weak body with the toe of his shoe. "Someone leavin' their trash out overnight to rot, I'm t'inkin'."  
  
His brother, Morris, chuckled. "Uh-huh. Overnight ta rot!"  
  
_Definitely not the sharpest tack in the barrel_. Antoine decided he would try and reason with these fellows. "Hello. I was wondering if you might direct me to the nearest hospital. See, I've got this terrible headache and I fear I may have---"  
  
"'Ey! Who said youse could talk?" The first Delancy snarled menacingly and kicked him harder than before. "Youse is gonna stay down til my bruddah an' I can figure out what we wants ta do wid ya."  
  
_How about sending me home?_ Antoine thought to himself anxiously. He stood up and cleared his throat. "You lay a hand on me and my father will---"   
  
"Ooooo! 'E's makin' wid da t'reats now. Ow nice." Oscar pulled out a set of brass knuckles and punched the boy across the jaw. As he pulled his hand back, blood streaked down his hand and onto the cuff of his sleeve. "Now look whatcha did. Got my favorite shirt all dirty. Whatcha fixin' to do 'bout _dat_, runt?"  
  
Antoine held his jaw, a fire burning in bones which he could only assume, if not broken, were pretty darn close to it. He was small for his age, and wasn't what one would call muscular, but he was certainly no runt! "I... would gladly... reimburse you for the shirt... but you must understand---" His words came out slowly, jaw throbbing to the point that he could barely get them out at all.  
  
"'Reimburse'. Dis guy talks funny."  
  
Morris guffawed. "Funny talker."  
  
"Rich kid too. Look at dose clothes." Oscar continued, pointing to the boy's ivory colored satin vest, buttoned up over an even whiter dress shirt. Completeing the ensemble were a pair of white knickers with knee socks and buckled shoes. "Not ta mention da way he talks." He landed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's yer name, Rich Kid?"  
  
Antoine straightened as best he could with Oscar pressing down on him. "Antoine Bernard Smith... the fourth." Something in his mouth was swelling, he realized. Talking wasn't going to be an option too much longer.  
  
"Pretty name too." Oscar added. "Scab."  
  
"Pretty enough ta break 'is legs?!" Morris asked hopefully.  
  
Oscar chuckled. "I think so. I do think so."  
  
The boys closed in and Antoine backed up. This was not looking good. _Just keep enough space between yourself and the ruffians and_---- He winced as something came down hard on his right knee and he both heard and felt the bones crack.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
  
"Hey Jack." Kid Blink called from his bunk. "Ow'd it go t'day?"  
  
Race flopped down on his bunk, directly under Blink's, and made a face in disgust. Kid's smelly feet were dangling over the edge, and right in front of his eyes. "Move dose feet."  
  
"Or else what?" Kid brought his feet up and stuck his head over the side instead. "You'll tickle me ta death?"  
  
Jack grinned and hung up his hat as he walked in. "Careful whatcha wish for." He stepped over and grabbed Kid by the foot.  
  
"'EY!" He burst into fits of giggles as Jack mercilessly attacked his feet. "Stop! I'm dyin' 'ere!"  
  
The strangled laughter of torturer and torturee bounced off the walls as Boots and Skittery rushed into the room, slamming the door behind them.  
  
Jack dropped Kid Blink with a thunk.   
  
"'Ey! Ouch!"  
  
"You'll get ovah it." Jack shook his head. Wimp. Where's da foiah, boys?" He asked.  
  
"Delancys." Skittery gasped. "Alleyway offa 43rd.... dey got some kid who was dumb enough ta land in deir territory."  
  
Race glanced over at Jack. It couldn't be. That Antoine kid wouldn't have been dumb enough to stick around there, would he? They had tossed his wallet back over the wall to show him that it was just a joke, and someone had caught--- _Oh no._  
  
"Boy a'we stupid." Race groaned and glanced over at Jack.  
  
"Well, didn't we a'ready know dat?" Mush sat up in his bunk, hearing something that was finally worth paying attention to. Everyone glared. "What?"  
  
Jack and Racetrack rushed out the door and were halfway down the stairs when Kloppman, the bunkhouse keeper, called to them. "Where dya think ya boys are going?"  
  
"Jest... out for a lil' stroll, s'all." Jack bit his lip, knowing that even this delay was enough to get Antoine seriously dead. He had wanted to play around with the stuffy little kid a little, but killing him hadn't been on the agenda.  
  
"Oh no ya don't. Ya know the rules. To bed with ya! Bed!" Kloppman shoed them back up the stairs.  
  
"Great. Now what?" Race muttered as they walked back up the stairs.  
  
"Foiah escape. S'only way down at dis hour."  
  
"Little runt sure is a lotta trouble."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
The whole world spun and appeared to have a hazy glow about it. Was this what it felt like to be dead? _No. You'd see your dried out carcass laying around somewhere. One of those out-of-body experiences._ He moved his head slightly to look for said carcass, and his eyes landed on a leg splayed out behind him. It was in bad shape. The knee cap was busted in and the whole appendage was bent around in a way that no human limb should have been. It was intensely fascinating, while still being grotesque. Whoever belonged to it was going to be in a lot of pain.  
  
Suddenly, a pair of voices brought Antoine back into focus. They were coming closer. If it was those newsboys again, he was going to let them have it for leaving him alone with those hoodlums.   
  
"Dere 'e is!" A voice belonging to the Newsie Jack had called Racetrack echoed off the brick walls.   
  
Jack Kelly came into his line of sight first. He looked sick, and for the first time, Antoine figured out why. The cowboy's gaze was drawn to the leg. _My leg_. Antoine realized with horror.  
  
"Now calm down." Racetrack caught the panic-stricken expression in the boy's eyes. "Panicin' ain't gonna do a bit a'good."  
  
"Fine thing for you to say! It isn't YOUR leg scattered about the pavement!" Antoine cried indignantly.  
  
"It ain't scaddahed. Keep yah shoit on." Jack muttered and bent down to try and pick Antoine up.  
  
Antoine balked and inched away. "You aren't going to touch me!"  
  
Jack grabbed Antoine by the front of his shirt. "Now listen tah me. I ain't gonna play games wid ya. Dat leg is in bad shape. Ya moight jest loose it if we don't do somethin' 'bout it. Now jest SHUT UP an' listen for a change. Race an' I are gonna take ya back to da Lodgin' House."  
  
"No you aren't! You're going to take me hospital. Now!"  
  
"Aw, quit it, already will ya? I'm sick of dis crap comin' outta ya. You want dem Delancy's ta come back an' find ya 'ere?" Racetrack bent down.  
  
Antoine shook his head, fear instantly replacing the panic in his eyes.  
  
"Didn't t'ink so. Now lay back an' shut yer yap. Dis might sting for a bit." Race carefully moved the leg around and back into something close to it's normal orientation. Antoine grimaced. "Sorry." Race added as an afterthought. "Alright, now we'se gonna move ya. Old on." Jack came back into Antoine's line of sight.  
  
On three, Racetrack and Jack scooped the boy up and carried him off down the street, taking care to avoid jostling the badly damaged leg at all costs.


	2. Adjustments

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Walk A Mile on My Route  
  
* Part Two *   
  
  
Arriving at the Lodging House, Antoine was carried up the stairs of the back fire escape and deposited gently on the landing directly below a large window. Racetrack jumped through and disappeared from view for a few minutes. When he returned, he had brought several curious spectators along with him.  
  
"What's dis, Cowboy?" A small kid with reddish-brown hair asked, head hanging out the window at a comical angle. "Anudder bum lookin' for a place tah stay? Yah know Kloppman don't take no squattahs."  
  
"E ain't no squattah." Jack shot back evenly. "'E's a local goiy. Got 'imself beat up by dah Delancys. Now stop askin' dumb questions, Snipeshootah, an' get Crutchy."  
  
The boy disappeared into the room again. Antoine was squirming inspite of himself. This was the most uncomfortable, awkward, displeasing situation he had ever found himself stuck in the middle of. Those filthy paperboys were supposed to help him? Yeah, right. And the Delancy's only meant to give him a nice, soothing massage. "So, what's the game?"  
  
"Game?" Jack looked amused by this. "No game. It's jest us riskin' our necks tah make sure ya don't die a'nuthin'."  
  
"Because that would cause all sorts of problems for you, right? Bad rap among the other street hooligans. Actually killing a guy might damage your reputation."  
  
His face hardened. "I felt bad dat ya couldn't fend for yerself. Roight about now I'm wonderin' why I bothahed." Jack jumped through the window and vanished.  
  
"You--- you aren't going to just leave me out here tonight?!" Antoine asked frantically.   
  
Jack's voice came from somewhere inside the lodging house. "Why not? Yer such a hotshot. I'm guessin' ya could take care a'yerself no problem. G'night! Sleep toight."  
  
Antoine fumbled to say something, but he was so shocked, nothing came to mind that would have been biting enough. Instead, he wound up simply sitting there, dumbfounded. Like it or not, the Newsies were probably the only reason he was alive now. Why they brought him here was still unknown, but ulterior motive or no, he at least had a safe place to sleep. Not that he expected to sleep much with the way his leg was beginning to throb, but it was something. His parents would love to hear this story, he was sure. Wait until they saw his leg. _Those Delancys are going to be sorry that they ever crossed with me. Dad'll hire the best lawyer this side of Brooklyn_-- He leaned back against the wall and took a few measured breaths to calm himself. --_and the judge will lock them up for so long that they'll be grandfathers by the time they get out again_-- Minutes of this musing bled into the better part of an hour, and soon he was fast asleep.  
  
Jack and Race reappeared at the window.   
  
"Took 'im long enough. T'ought dat boy would nevah get tah sleep." Race jumped back over the window ledge, landing gently beside Antoine's broken leg. He set down a bundle of rags next to him and carefully set about the delicate task of wrapping the leg. "I cain't do dis! Crutchy, c'mon! Fixin' 'is leg was _your_ idea!"  
  
Crutchy hobbled over to the window and propped himself up next to Jack. "Don't woirry! It'll be foine! Yer a great noi'se!"  
  
"Say dat again an' I'll bust yer 'ead." Racetrack sneered and continued wrapping.  
  
"I'll say dis fer Mistah Antoine Bernard Smith... 'e sleeps like a rock." Jack chuckled.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
The dawn came far sooner than Antoine had anticipated. He squinted against the invading sun rays and was about to call for his maid, Mildred, to close the curtains when he remembered where he was. Eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness of sunrise, he felt around the cold metal grating of the fire escape Jack had left him to use as a bed the night before. _Lousy little newsboy._ He tried to stand up, but then remembered about his leg. Glancing down, he was shocked to find that it had been wrapped neatly so the bones would stay in place. Another sweep down with his eyes revealed something else--- his clothes had been changed. "What the devil--?"  
  
"Mornin' sunshine." A brown haired Newsie poked his head over the edge.  
  
"'E up, Mush?" Racetrack called from inside.  
  
Mush grinned. "Ya got it. An' boy does 'e evah look 'appy ta see me."  
  
"Don't take it personal," Race appeared in the window. "'E acts like dat ta everyone. 'Cept when 'e's sleepin'. Den, even a hurricane couldn't wake 'im up."  
  
"And what, may I ask, is _that_ supposed to mean?" Antoine asked indignantly.  
  
"Oh nuthin' but da fact dat we was able ta not only wrap yer leg, but change yer clothes... an' all widout you blinkin' an eye." Race pulled a cigar from his trousers pocket and fingered it absently. "Real talent ya got dere. I coulda sworn you was dead." He struck a match on the window frame and lit the cigar all in one motion.  
  
"Not to sound dumb, but why did you take my clothes and leave me in _these_ rags?"  
  
"So yous would blend in bettah." Racetrack shrugged and blew out a puff of smoke. "Ya gonna sell papes, ya need clothes ya can work real well in. Sides, in a getup like what yous ad on, ya woulda gotten soaked again real quick."  
  
"Sell papers? Antoine didn't understand the part of the sentence, so he chose to ignore it. Who ever said anything about that?"  
  
"I did." Jack walked up the fire escape from the ground below. "Ya said ya didn't wanna be in debt ta us. So, yer gonna need ta earn some money ta pay off our soivices."  
  
Antoine laughed. "I don't need to work for that! As soon as I get home, I'll have my father pay you in full. I'm---"  
  
"Rich, yeah. So we 'eard." Mush jumped in. "Ya know, ya got a real attitude problem, kid. Fact is, yer parents ain't 'ere, an dey didn't come lookin' for ya last night neidah."  
  
"Well... they don't know where I am!"  
  
"Roight." Jack shook his head. "Meantime, yer comin' wid us t'day. Until mumsie and dadsie shows up... ya gotta earn ya keep. Uddahwise, ya don't get kept."  
  
"There is one flaw in your logic." Antoine said. "I can't walk like this. I need several days bedrest or I could develop an infection!"  
  
"Ah, well, we can fix dat up easy. 'Ey, Crutchy?!" Jack called into the main room. "C'mere."  
  
Crutchy scrambled over to the window with a goofy grin on his face. "Ya got it, Jack. 'Ere, kid." He handed over a wooden pair of crutches. "Used ta 'ave dese until I outgrew 'em. Dey should fit ta ya height foine."  
  
Antoine held them for a moment, debating what he should do next. These street rats were actually trying to help him. Didn't quite seem like they had a hidden agenda, but he'd stay on his guard just in case. Plus, going with them would insure that they didn't try to pull anything sneaky while he was sleeping. If luck was with him, he would find his parents in no time, and they could, in turn, arrest the little runts for kidnapping. "Alright. I'll come." He pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the crutches as he did so.  
  
"Great!" Jack gave him a fairly fake-looking smile. "Now c'mon. You'll be woikin' wid Crutchy t'day."  


*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
The one they called Crutchy might have been a gimp, but he sure knew how to make money. He made the most of his physical limitations, playing both sides of the table--- acting as if his injury caused him severe pain for some people, while putting on the strong and independent front for others. It all depended on what they wanted to see. Some of the high-class ladies pitied the poor Crip, buying his papers out of charity. The working class men with enough money in their pockets to buy the morning paper would applaud him on 'living the American Dream' and 'trying to get ahead in the face of insurmountable odds'.  
  
"T'day's a good day." Crutchy chuckled. "Can't hoit dat wid you I get double da revenue."  
  
"Yes, but we're splitting it 50/50." Antoine shot back evenly. He might admire Crutchy's stamina, but that didn't mean he was out to make friends with the kid.  
  
"Now why ya gotta go an' act loike dat?"  
  
"Act like what?"  
  
"Loike yer so much hoigher up dan da rest of us?"  
  
"Because I am?"  
  
Crutchy shook his head. "Ya ain't gonna last long wid dat kinda attitude. No wondah da Delancy's gotcha."  
  
"Well, unlike you, I don't have to do this for a living. I'll be a lawyer one day, and never have to worry about my monetary gains ever again."  
  
"I still say ya ain't gonna last long wid dat attitude. Doesn't mattah if ya live on da streets, or ya spend all yer days behind a desk. Eider way you gotta lighten up." Crutchy pulled out another paper and waved it around in the air. "FOIAH AT WILD WEST SHOW DESTROYS STABLES! Wild Horses Toi'ned Loose on Da Crowds!"  
  
"And you make money like that... will wonders never cease."  
  
"Loike what?"  
  
"Wavin' your arm around like that and screamin' at the top of your lungs."  
  
"Woikes for me." Crutchy shrugged as a man stopped and purchased the paper he had been waving around moments before. "You wanna try now? I'm doin' all da woike 'ere, Ant."  
  
"Don't call me that." Antoine begrudgingly grabbed up a paper and half-heartedly read the headline aloud. "Fishin' Boat Capsizes! Day's Catch Washes Out To Sea!"  
  
Crutchy shook his head. It was going to be a long day. But there was still hope. Antoine was starting to show signs of being a decent worker.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Traditionally after a solid day of selling papes, the Newsies would gather in one of two places. They could either be found hanging around at Tibby's Restaurant, or more recently, since the Newsies strike, over the bridge in Brooklyn with Spot Conlon and his band of Newsies. Officially, the two groups weren't to be even remotely connected. Let alone considered friends. But if you were to walk over to the docks on any given day, you would have sworn that Spot and Jack were childhood buddies.  
  
Today's group consisted of Spot and a dozen or so of his boys, along with Jack, David, Les, Snipeshooter, Mush, Racetrack, Specs, and Kid Blink.  
  
"So Jackie-boy," Spot dangled his legs over the edge of the docks. "Hear ya got yerself a new guy."  
  
"Guess woid travels fast round 'ere."  
  
"Da fastest." Spot continued. "Real soft rich kid. So all I wanna know is: ya gettin' in da 'abit of pickin' up scabbahs?"  
  
Jack shook his head in surprise. "Now 'old on. I ain't picked up no scabber. 'E's woiken ta pay off a little debt 'e owes us. Once 'e finishes, 'e can go jump off da Brooklyn Bridge fer all I care."  
  
"An' I'd 'ave da boid's eye view a'dat one, huh?" Spot crossed his arms. "Listen, I ain't hot on new guys... 'specially dose wid an attitude problem."  
  
"Well, dat's great, since he ain't stayin'."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
"An' what's dat s'posed ta mean?"  
  
"I dunno, Kelly... you tell me." Spot got up and walked off down the pier.  
  
Jack stared after him in surprise. _Spot bettah not t'ink I'm goin' soft. We ARE ditchin' da new kid. Hell, 'e doesn't wanna stay around anymore dan we want 'im ta._  
  
Not feeling paritcularly welcome anymore, Jack gathered his group together and took off for home. Conlon's moods changed like the weather-- violently, and without warning. He could tell the other boys were a little confused and curious about what went down to cause the sudden departure, but Jack wasn't feeling particularly talkative right now. He hated the idea that everyone in the city knew about Antoine, and thought he was going soft because of him.  
  
"What was _dat_ all about, Jack?" Mush glanced over his shoulder, back the docks, as they walked away. "Looked like everyt'in' was goin' great!"  
  
"Not in da mood, Mush. Just keep walkin'. We gotta talk wid da uddahs when we gets dinnah at Tibby's."


	3. Fitting In

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
Walk a Mile on My Route  
  
* Part Three *   
  
  
"So what's all dis about, Jack?" Skittery mumbled through a mouthful of frankfurter.  
  
"Our new charge Antoine," he replied and tossed a napkin at the boy, "an' what we's gonna do wid 'im." Jack suddenly made a face. "Fer da love a'livin', wipe yer mouth. I dun really wanna WATCH ya chew yer food, ya know."  
  
Skittery jammed the last of the roll into his mouth and mumbled, "Smmmorry," small bits of food flying everywhere.  
  
"Aw sick."  
  
"Disgustin'."  
  
"Anyone gots a napkin?"  
  
On cue, menus, napkins, and silverware flew at the food spitter. In the midst of this, Crutchy hobbled in with Antoine in tow. They had taken a lot longer than Crutchy had wanted. Antoine had started well, but after their argument, he had been reluctant to sell anything. _Complainin' dat 'is feet hoit. Nevah thought I'd see da day dat I felt likes I was babysittin' on my route._  
  
Jack walked over and took Crutchy aside, leaving Antoine to stare into a room full of kids who hated his guts. Not that it bothered him one way or another. They could hate him for all he cared. He didn't need their friendship to survive. Friends didn't translate directly into money, so he was uninterested. A guy could have all the friends in the world and be poor, or be filthy rich and not worry about making friends. The choice was easy for him. "Hello." He glanced around the room and managed to find an empty chair to flop down in.  
Boy it had gotten quiet in a hurry.  
  
The other Newsies slowly resumed the conversations they had been having, but now in a hushed, subdued tone. No one made a move to talk to Antoine.  
  
"Dat boy don't know dat 'e's a real joike, eh?" Specs took a quick peek at Antoine out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Most joikes don't." Racetrack leaned in. "S'really ruinin' Jack's rep 'round 'ere, though."  
  
Mush chuckled. "Lookit dat." He nodded his head toward Antoine who was trying to eat a hot dog with a knife and fork.  
  
"Dat's just sad." Kid Blink fought back the urge to laugh out loud.  
  
Crutchy and Jack rejoined the group, having finally come to a decision. "'E can stay---"  
  
"WHAT?!" The other Newsies got to their feet. Jack couldn't have said what he just said.   
  
"S'long as 'E pays fer 'is lodgin'. No free ride. Sure, 'e's hoit, but if 'e's gonna give us a 'ard time, 'e forfeited any roight dat 'e had to a free ride." The Cowboy rationalized, making it perfectly clear that he, too, was completely fed up.  
  
Reluctantly, all the Newsies slowly agreed to this plan. The few that were holding out gave in as Crutchy added the condition that every time Antoine put up a scene he would loose a few more luxuries. If he didn't play his cards right, he would wind up on the street before he knew it.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
  
Antoine limped back into the lodging house late that night, having spent the remainder of the day traipsing around the city looking for any sign of his parents. Outwardly, he tried not to look discouraged, but inwardly he was beginning to fear that they would never come back. Maybe something had happened to them? Certainly they wouldn't have knowingly left him here.   
  
Heading for the staircase, the man the Newsies had called Kloppman called to him. "Where ya think yer going, boy?"  
  
"To bed?" Antoine fought to keep his temper. The day had already been rough enough without fighting with the old geaser now.  
  
"Not widdout payin'."  
  
_But those boys_--- He realized something suddenly. _Very clever. Making me pay for my own board, trying to intimidate me. Well, I'll show them._ He dug into his pocket and procured a few coins.  
  
"Dat it?" Kloppman stood expectantly.  
  
_Well, how much is this going to--_- Antoine reached into his other pocket and dumped it out as well.  
  
"Almost dere." The old man was enjoying this now.  
  
Indignantly, Antoine pulled out his leather pouch from a shirt pocket and dumped its contents on the table.   
  
"See ya next month!" Kloppman swept the money off the counter and into the palm of his hand   
  
_Highway robbery for one month's boarding._ Antoine grimaced and hobbled up the stairs. He wasn't used to having to pay for sleeping. Back home, money wasn't any object. It was a good deal different here though, he was beginning to realize.  
  
When he finally reached the---- well, the only word that came to mind for it was 'Communal Bedroom'---- Antoine stood expectantly in the doorway.  
  
"Lookin' for a place tah sleep da night?" A small black kid yawned and walked over to meet him.  
  
"No. I'm just takin' in the view." Antoine rolled his eyes.  
  
"Oh. 'Kay whatevah ya wants." The boy began to walk back towards his bunk.  
  
"A'_course_ I want a bed, idiot."  
  
The kid smirked. "Coulda jest said so." He pointed to an empty bottom bunk in the far corner. "Dat one."  
  
Antoine flopped down on the bunk, laying his crutches up against the wall. He closed his eyes and prepared to sleep when a noise reminiscent of a herd of elephants came galloping up the stairs. _Not elephants_. He groaned. _Newsies. Greeeat_.  
  
"Got 'em good dat time, Cowboy!" Snoddy clapped Jack on the back and catapulted himself up onto his top bunk.  
  
Jack held up his hands. "Please, please. No t'anks is required."  
  
"Oh good god." Antoine hissed and slammed the pillow down over his head.  
  
"Ah. 'Ello, sunshine. Looks like ya got ta stay after all." Racetrack said louder than was necessary. "An'... looks like I win da bet, boys. Pay up!"  
  
"You were bettin' on me?!"  
  
"'Course." Race held out his hat as the other Newsies placed in a rather impressive pile of coins.  
  
"Yer unbelievable."  
  
Shrugging, Race gathered up his winnings and headed for his bunk. "T'anks."  
  
With a squeak of protest from the springs, Antoine rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep.  
  
"Eh, don't worry 'bout 'im Race." Snipeshooter hung down from the top bunk over Antoine's bed. "'E's just sore cause his pursestring ain't dat fat no more." Snipe had watched the whole thing with Kloppman and was still in stitches from it. Happily, the boy relayed the tale to the rest of the Newsies who enjoyed it just as much as he had, if not more so. Fuming, the only sound that came from Antoine's bunk was the occasional screech of the bedsprings. He wasn't going to dignify this group with allowing them to see that they were finally starting to get to him.  
  
"'Ey, fellahs! Lookit dis. Pursestring's all sore at us." Snipeshooter leaned down a little farther so he could still see Antoine's face. "We's just teasin' ya."  
  
"What part of leavin' me the hell alone don't you understand?!"  
  
Jack grinned. _We's gettin' tah 'im. Takin' longer dan I t'ought, but it'll 'appen._  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
  
Two days later, Antoine found himself alone down by the harbor. It was the only place the Newsies didn't have anyone specifically assigned to and Crutchy wanted to go solo today. Yesterday hadn't been much better, and he could tell that Crutchy was pretty much fed up with him. Ah well. Kid's problem, not his. So much for that garbage about having to work well with others. _Practice what you preach, gimp._  
  
Ruefully, the greenhorn Newsie realized that his sales weren't going as well without a second gimp. "EXTRA! EXTRA! Convict Extradited ta State Penitentiary!" People gave him glances since he _had_ opened his mouth, but nothing beyond that. And definitely no sales.  
  
"What's a guy gotta do? Beg?" He remembered something that Crutchy had said yesterday. How did it go again? If the headlines weren't working, _make_ them work _for_ you.   
  
"EXTREY! EXTREY! Bloodthirsty Killer Locked Up! Murderous Rampage Stopped Cold!"  
  
A woman detached from her circle of friends and walked over. "I'll take one."  
  
Antoine nearly jumped for joy as he accepted her penny and handed over the paper. _The gimp was right! It worked! And it isn't like I was lying... just... what was it Jack called that? 'Improving on the Truth'!_ Still, he knew that he had a long way to go just to buy lunch. Ah well. He was up for a challenge.   
  
Hours ticked by without a second thought. It was actually kind of fun to make your own money, he was beginning to discover. He made it a game to see how many papes he could sell at a time. Soon, he realized that your best bet was a large crowd like the one around the Stock Exchange or, if you didn't want to get fancy, one of those barefist boxing matches would do the trick. More of those to choose from.   
  
Before he realized it, he was out of papes. Smiling from ear to ear, he figured he'd catch the guys at Tibby's for a late lunch. As he walked along, he waved at people, stopped to watch a couple guys playing poker, and even took the opportunity to see some fishermen drag in the morning catch. It was stuff like this you missed when you lived in the sparkling white homes of New Rochelle and the other suburbs.  
  
_When I get back home, I'll ask mum and pop about coming over here once in awhile._ He mused as he turned down 43rd street.  
  
Everything felt fun for the first time in his life. Perfect.  
  
That was when two familiar figures rounded the corner and blocked his path. "'Ello dere."  
  
_The Delancy's again. Great. Now what am I supposed to do?_ Antoine straightened up. He was down to using one crutch, but he still was an easy target. "'Ello." He replied pleasantly.  
  
"'Avin' a good day sellin'?" Oscar sneered. "So good dat you might jest wanna share some of yer dough wid us?"  
  
"Nevah." Antoine tested the weight on his leg. He could stand, but if this was heading for a fight, he didn't know how long he could hold out without some serious backup. "I'll be goin' now."  
  
Morris stepped in his way, blocking the end of the alleyway. "No way out now, boy."  
  
Antoine gritted his teeth. He wanted revenge on these bullies so bad that he could taste it. "Ya dun wanna be doin' dat."  
  
"Pffft! Talkin' big like dat. Who'dya t'ink ya are?!" Oscar snarled.  
  
Antoine was taken off guard. Didn't they remember him? _Just the kid that you beat up and left for dead less than a week ago._ But then again, the Delancy's beat up dozens of kids every day. Probably didn't keep mental records on each one of them. He could use this to his advantage. "Dey call me Pursestring."  
  
"Who's 'dey'?" Oscar wasn't expecting an answer out of this shrimp.  
  
"Da Manhattan Newsies. Jack Kelly an' dem."  
  
"Really? I ain't evah seen you wid 'em."  
  
"I'm new." Antoine risked letting this piece of information slide. He hoped they weren't bright enough to put two and two together.  
  
Oscar and Morris considered this for a moment. "Alright, kid. Don't mind if we send ya's back ta Kelly a little worse for da wear, t'ough, do ya?" Oscar cracked his knuckles. "Wait. Dumb question. 'Course ya would. Lucky fer us, ya don't got a choice in da mattah."  
  
"Nuthin' pers'nal." Morris reached into his pocket where, Antoine remembered, he kept the set of brass knuckles. "S'not you... s'Kelly. Wanna give 'im a present."  
  
_Wow. Meathead does talk._ Antoine almost spoke this sentiment aloud, but thought better of it and instead opted to keep his mouth shut. Good thing too, for a moment later, he took a hard shot to the shoulder and tumbled to the pavement. This wasn't looking good.  
  
As he was preparing to defend himself somehow, another body came sailing over the top of his crumpled mass, laying into both Delancy's. Scrambling, both boys were set upon by six other kids. In a flurry of left hooks, headbutts, and bodyslams, Antoine was just barely able to identify his saviors as Newsies. But who's group?  
  
Bruised and bleeding, Oscar and Morris eventually broke free and took off running for home.  
  
"Get outta 'ere, draftahs. Run back ta yer Uncle Wease."  
  
Antoine looked up to see who it was. A kid who he assumed was around his age, drew out a gold-tipped cane and waved at the two retreating boys. "Ya alright, kid?"  
  
Sore, but otherwise in one piece, Antoine nodded and stumbled to his feet. _Spot Conlon_. He was finally able to put a name to a face. The other Newsies talked about him a lot, but what was he doing this far outside of Brooklyn?  
  
"My boys an' I was just passin' t'rough an' saw dat you was in trouble. What's yer name?" Spot holstered his cane once more.  
  
"A--" He thought better of using his real name and opted for his new nickname. "Pursestring. Least dat's what Snipeshooter an' some of da uddahs call me."  
  
Spot grinned. "Shoulda figured ya was in Jack's group. Well, see yah around den. T'ink ya can make it back ta da bunkhouse?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll be fine."  
  
"Say hi ta Jack an' dat new kid... Antoine or somethin' like that."  
  
Antoine stood dumbstruck as Spot and his boys headed off. _But I am---_


	4. Runaway

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
Walk a Mile on My Route  
  
* Part Four *   
  
  
Spot just didn't know what he looked like, Antoine decided. All the Brooklyn Newsies knew of him was that he was rich and had been beat up by the Delancy's. But shouldn't his limp have been enough to tip Spot off? And why hadn't Oscar and Morris recognized him from before? Oh, he'd tried to explain that away as well, but the solution he came up with still didn't sit well.  
  
He walked along trying to sort everything out in his head when he caught sight of Jack's friend and his little brother--- what was that kid's name again? Danny? Darren? DAVID! "'Ey Dave..."  
  
David Jacobs and his younger brother Les both looked up at the same time, and also at the same time looked disgusted at what they saw. It didn't phase Antoine though. He needed to talk to someone and he needed to talk right now. _Who better than the Walking Mouth?_  
  
"'Eya." Antoine scuffed his shoe on the pavement a little.  
  
"Les... why don't you go catch up with the others at the Restaurant? Tell them I'll be along in a minute." David ushered his younger brother away.  
  
"Awwww, but--!" Les protested.  
  
"Just do what I said, please!"  
  
Begrudgingly, the boy jogged off towards Tibby's.  
  
"So what can I do for you Antoine Bernard Smith the Fourth?"  
  
"Ya remembahed my name."  
  
"Surprised?"  
  
"Well, no one else seems ta call me anythin' but Pursestring dese days." He chuckled ruefully. Not that he minded anymore. It was just still rather hard to get used to.   
  
David loosened up a little. Antoine seemed to be a little more easygoing at the moment, so there was no reason not to be friendly. "They do that. Hey, a lot of them call me Mouth. What can you do about it, right?"  
  
"Guess so." Antoine shrugged. He'd wanted to talk but... suddenly it didn't seem as important. He'd get accepted into the group. It'd just take time. "Say.. ya headin' ta Tibby's?"  
  
"Wondering when you were going to ask." The two Newsies headed off for a late lunch. David was still wary, but he felt that Antoine had changed a lot over one morning, if such a thing was possible. All that time alone really did the snob some good. He was glad it had worked out this way instead of the opposite scenario where Antoine ran off looking for home and got himself hurt... or dead.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
  
The standard lunch crowd was buzzing at the Newsies' chief hangout when David arrived with Antoine. The same silence as the day before fell over the tables where the others sat, but Antoine didn't let this intimidate him for a second time. He marched right over, grabbed an empty chair and pulled up to Jack's table. The others sitting there - Mush, Race, Blink, and Pie Eater - all slid over in surprise.  
  
"So..." Jack began. He wasn't used to being caught speechless. But this kid's sudden burst of self confidence fit neatly into the 'unexpected' category. There was something different about him, but Jack couldn't quite put his finger on it.  
  
"'Ow'd everyone do dis mornin'?" Antoine took this awkward moment as his cue to start the conversation.  
  
"Fine..." Race, too, wasn't sure what was going on.  
  
Mush didn't want to pussyfoot around the issue though. "Geez. What 'appened ta ya? Yer like a different guy."  
  
"Didn't hit yer 'ead 'er nuthin', Antoine?" Pie Eater cocked his head and waved his hand infront of Antoine's face.  
  
"Call me Ant. An'.. I'm fine, really!" Antoine batted at Pie Eater's hand. "Haven't felt dis good in a real long time."  
  
The others still looked skeptical.  
  
"Ya all taught me somethin' real important. Dat's ta unstuff me shirt an' look at all da good around me. S'easy ta take it fer granted when ya lives inside a nice little sanitized house yer whole life." He took a deep breath. "I've been a real jerk, I know. Da phrase 'spoiled brat' even comes ta mind."  
  
"Hey! Whaddya know, Ant? Mine too." Blink replied sourly. _Gimme a break. Dis sounds so rehearsed. An' still---_  
  
"Give 'im a chance." Jack hushed Blink. He knew about getting a second chance to set things right and wasn't about to deny that to Antoine. No matter what kind of a egomaniacal pipsqueak he had been the first week, there was something different now. He felt honesty coming from Antoine for the first time.  
  
"All I want is anudder shot. Ta start ovah. I's real sorry 'bout makin' ya put up wid me."  
  
The other tables had long ago discontinued their conversations in favor of listening in to what was happening at the main table. At Ant's last comment, they exchanged looks. "Should we?" "Whaddya t'ink?" "Could it hoit?"  
  
Finally, Jack gave the okay. The first test for the new and improved Antoine would come that afternoon, anyway. They were planning a trip to the docks in Brooklyn--- the first one since Jack and company had walked away a week before. It was going to be a little strained, but what better place to test 'Ant'? "Et's get outta 'ere an' go fer a swim."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
  
Spot saw them coming from a good distance away. That was the advantage of being the most famous and respected Newsie in all of New York-- you always got a good view of things. From his perch on the pilons at the docks, he could see everything for blocks around. Nice of Jack to finally come around. He hadn't meant anything by their conversation before, just that he didn't trust scabs and that if Jack knew what was good for him, he wouldn't either. They had a tendency to turn on you. "'Eya Jackie-boy. Wonderin' when you was comin' back."  
  
Jack cracked a half smile and offered a spit shake to Spot, who accepted. Everything was going to be alright, even if they didn't agree on Jack's new boy.   
  
Grabbing Ant by the shoulder and clearing his throat, Jack began the introduction he had run over at least a dozen times in his head. "Spot, dis is---"  
  
"Pursestring. 'Eya again."  
  
Floored, Jack gaped as Ant spit-shook with the Brooklyn leader. "Nice ta see ya again too, Spot."  
  
_Don't Spot know dat--- Waaaait. I got dis now. Spot don't know who Antoine is. Well, really is._ Jack unclasped his hands. _But when did 'e meet Ant?_  
  
"Spot an' 'is boys got me outta a scrape wid da Delancy's dis afternoon." Ant answered the unspoken question. "Now I know why 'e's got da respect of all da Newsies in New York."  
  
"Alright, schmoozah. Enough's enough. Ya gonna sit 'ere an' buttah up Spot all aftahnoon or ya gonna come fer a swim?" Racetrack punched Ant playfully in the arm and dove off the end of the dock.  
  
Ant spun and took off after Racetrack. "Yer gonna get it fer dat!"  
  
_Once more all alone._ Jack glanced over at Spot. Should he tell him the truth about Antoine? The guy was bound to ask where their new pretty boy was at anyway.   
  
"So where's dat scabbah? 'E decide ta stay back at da lodgin' 'ouse an' cry?" Spot chuckled.  
  
"No..." Jack took a deep breath. "'E's 'ere."  
  
"Where?"  
  
Soundlessly, Jack pointed off the end of the pier where Ant was splashing around with Racetrack and Blink.  
  
Spot raised an eyebrow. "Yer jokin'." He took a good look at the Manhattan Newsie's face. "'Kay, so yer not." He shook his head. "Can't believe it. Well, 'e ain't what I figured."  
  
"'E ain't like 'e was when 'e came ta us 'bout t'ree weeks ago neidah. 'E's different. Kinda---"  
  
"Nice?" Spot supplied with a smirk.  
  
"Yeah, dat."  
  
As the two continued their conversation, Ant swam forward and ducked down below the water. Down in the murky depths, he devised a plan and started swimming towards the support beams under the dock. _Gotta time this just right..._ He surfaced briefly to take in some air, unnoticed by his two intended splashing victims.  
  
"-- an' 'e don't even _look_ like da ol' Antoine neidah." Jack was confiding to Spot. "Or talk like 'im."  
  
"Gotta hand it to ya, Jack. Ya really did a good job wid 'im. Ya couldn't tell 'im from one a'da uddah's who's been sellin' papes fer years any more."  
  
Tensing, Antoine shot straight up in the water. He had heard everything and was furious. _So that was their plan. Change me into one of them! And here I was thinking that they actually wanted to be friends. I fell for it!!_ "So glad ta know dat I was a good lil' guinea pig fer yah!" He leapt onto the dock and ran as fast and as far as he could. He was going to find his parents, and he was going to find them now.  
  
"Where's 'e goin', Jack?" Mush pulled his dripping wet body out of the water and stared after Ant.  
  
Jack set his jaw, cursing the lousy timing.  
  
"Ta find 'is parents, I'll bet." Kid Blink shook his head. "Whadya say ta 'im, Cowboy?"  
  
"Somethin' dat Purse misundahstood, no doubt." Snipeshooter too crawled up onto the dock. "Judgin' by da speed a'which 'e took off, I mean."  
  
"I could send some a'my boys aftah im', Jack." Spot wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he felt bad about what had just happened. "Bring 'im back 'ere."  
  
"No." Jack spoke for the first time since Ant took off. "I'll follow 'im m'self."  
  
"Yer kiddin', Jack! You'll nevah catch 'im." Blink said incredulously. "At least let some of us look too."  
  
He didn't really want the others involved, but Jack realized that without them, he might _never_ find Antoine. "A'right. But let me do da talkin'."  
  
"Sure." Kid motioned to Mush and Race. "We'll check 'round midtown."  
  
Snipeshooter snagged Boots and Snoddy. "We'se got Harlem."  
  
The other Newsies quickly broke up, Spot sending his boys out to personally check out every crevice of Brooklyn. They were going to find him and explain things. He wasn't just a pawn in some game. He was their friend.


	5. Who Am I? / Second Chance

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
Walk a Mile on My Route 

* Part Five *  
  
  
Ant ran for what felt like hours. Passing building after building, he had no idea where he was heading. All he knew was that he had to get as far away from the other Newsies as possible.  
  
When he finally fell to his knees in complete exhaustion, he began to cry. It wasn't fair. How could they use him like that? He had actually started to trust them too. _Guess mum and pop were right. Making friends is only asking for trouble._ Rolling over in the grass of central park and gazing up at the sky, he could still hear the words Jack and Spot had said.   
  
**"'E don't even look like da ol' Antoine neidah..."**  
  
He sat up suddenly and stumbled over to a bench. In the hazy glow of a park light that had just been lit for the evening, a flat object caught his eye. Plucking it out of the grass, he was surprised to discover that it was a lady's hand mirror. "Gosh. Someone's gonna be missin' dis in da mornin'." Turning it over, the glassy surface reflected back the face of a boy that Antoine vaguely knew. High cheekbones, sandy brown hair, hazel eyes... it was him. But, it wasn't, really. For one thing, his hair had grown out a bit and was tousled. Not to mention that it was bit bleached by the sun. How long had he been Jack Kelly's prisoner anyway? Months? Years?  
  
His skin was dirty... and a little tanned too. An ink smear here, a smudge of dirt there, and a scabbed over cut on his forehead. He'd gotten _that_ the day he'd chased after Racetrack and Jack to get his wallet back. To tell the truth, he hadn't really thought about it much. It had stung, but there had been a million other, more important things on his mind at the time.  
  
Ruefully, he realized that Spot and Jack were right. He _didn't_ look like his old self. A small twinge in his leg was all he needed to remind himself of the other feature that was far different from the way he was before. His leg. It wouldn't ever be the same, that was for certain. It had healed up _some_, he knew, but not enough to walk without a pronounced limp. He would need much more time to heal, if even that would be enough. "Who am I now anyways? I ain't dat boy who rolled outta a carriage, winin' and moanin', but I ain't no street kid neidah. I don't belong nowhere."  
  
The couples taking a late night stroll in the park passed by without a sideways glance. They were dressed so fine and matched so perfectly. It was almost like they were little dolls on display for all the world to see. _I used to be like that. Not caring what went on around me. Mum and Pop made me the perfect little socialite airhead._  
  
So, did he want to go back? He could see clearly what they were really like now, and yet--- something wanted to be a part of that lifestyle again. Why? Well, what was his alternative? He couldn't go back to the Newsies either. How could he stay with people who he couldn't trust? His parents' friends were backstabbers and liars too, but at least they were upfront about it.  
  
"Excuse me, boy." A voice penetrated the haze of deep thought Antoine was floating through.  
  
"Yeah? Somethin' I can do fer ya?" He replied without looking up.  
  
"You can move, little ruffian." A female voice, companion to the first, obviously, spat down at him. "You can move before I call the policeman on you."  
  
Miserably, Ant grabbed up his crutch and prepared to limp away. He glanced up, adjusting his cap, and nearly fell over backwards in surprise. _Mum! Pop!_  
  
Beulah, his mother, was staring down her perfectly powdered nose at him. "Well? Do you wish to spend the night in jail?"  
  
She didn't recognize him. It hurt worse than when Morris had busted him across the mouth with that set of brass knuckles. As a matter of fact, he would have probably preferred a good bust across the chops to this. "N-no." He mumbled and stepped aside. "S'all yours, lady."  
  
As he watched, his parents took the bench and proceeded to ignore him completely. Never mind a "thank you". Never mind a "Gosh, are you okay? That leg looks bad". He cleared his throat a little, and both turned with irritation. "You haven't left yet?" She humphed.  
  
"No ma'am." Ant squeezed his crutch. He had to make sure that they got a good look at his face, so he took off his checked cap as well.  
  
His only reward was her sneer of distaste. "I was serious about calling the police, child."  
  
"What'd _I_ evah do, 'sides sit down fer a minute?" He asked what he felt was a fair question.  
  
"You were born." His father, Stanley, verbally slammed him down with three of the most painful words he could have chosen.   
  
_Definitely would rather take the knuckles right about now._ He bit his lip to keep the tears from flowing. Didn't they recognize his voice at least? "'Scuse me, den."  
  
"'Den'? You street urchins can't even speak proper English. The word is 'THEN'. You might wish to try it some time." Stanley's steely cold glare stabbed Ant like a knife.  
  
Isn't that what I said? "'Course dat's da right woid." He paused to really listen to what he had said. _Well, I'll be darned. Looks like I picked up that accent too. Add another item to the list of changes._ In his head, it all sounded the same, so he never noticed the change in his voice. Made sense though, since that was all he heard 24/7.  
  
"'Woid'. I do believe my ears are _bleeding_." Stanley got to his feet. "GET OUT!"  
  
Ant was about to reply when another voice joined in the conversation. "Sorry. Didn't know dis was yer park."  
  
_Jack? But I left you---_ Ant's mind whirled as Cowboy approached the bench.  
  
Beulah inched away from Jack towards the far end of the bench. "Stanley... there's another one of them! Keep him back!"  
  
"Stay away from my wife, you hear? You already killed my boy. I won't have you harm another in my family." He clutched her protectively.  
  
"Ah, keep yer shirt on." Racetrack popped up behind the bench and clapped Ant's dad firmly on the back. "Jack 'ere don't bite. Neidah does Pursestring... 'less ya make 'im."  
  
Ant didn't like to admit it, but he was almost glad to see the other Newsies coming to his aid. At least now he wasn't alone to take the verbal abuse. There was more than enough to go around.  
  
"I'll have you all thrown in jail, you hear?!" Stanley's voice rose in pitch.  
  
"Awww. Whatcha wanna do dat fer?" Mush walked out from behind a tree.  
  
Kid Blink followed close behind. "Da jails is highly overrated in dis town."  
  
"You would know!" Beulah's voice quavered, somewhere between a shout and a squeak.  
  
"Nah. Kid ain't nevah been ta jail more den a day 'er two." Jack smiled. "Now Snitch on da uddah 'and---" Jack trailed off as the aforementioned Newsie joined the gradually growing group.  
  
Stanley and Beulah were slowly becoming aware of the fact that they were surrounded. "So what are you going to do? Mug us, you band of uneducated, low-life---"  
  
"I wouldn't say that we're all uneducated. Some of us come from actual families who sent us to school." David's voice offered a stark contrast to the accents around him. "We just don't have the same financial means that you do. If something happens -- say, an accident at work that disables the father in the family -- we're left with little choice but to work for a living. That doesn't, however, make us any less _human_ than you."  
  
Sensing that he might have found someone to confide with, Stanley inched towards David. "You're different from the rest of them, I can see that. Now, be reasonable. We're just out for a nice evening stroll, you see. We don't want any trouble."  
  
"Really? Because what I saw didn't look like a simple walk through the park. It looked like you trash-talking a kid who just wanted to sit down for a minute." David wasn't about to back down. "That sound about right?"  
  
The two glared indignantly. "That's not it at all." Beulah muttered a small, pathetic protest.  
  
Jack walked up beside David with a smile on his face. "'E's a good talker, Dave. Stuff dat 'e says makes a lotta sense. If youse even got 'alfa brain, ya'd know ta listen ta what 'e's sayin'.... and get da hell outta 'ere."  
  
"Y-you mean you'll let us go?" Beulah spluttered.   
  
"'Course. We weren't nevah gonna keep yah." Spot Conlon called out from the lighted walkway, lined on either side by his boys. "Now I'd listen tah da Cowboy. Get outta 'ere."  
  
The two scrambled to their feet and practically ran off down the sidewalk, casting glances at the Brooklyn Newsies all around as they ran.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
  
"Ain't nevah seen nobody run dat fast b'fore." Mush tried to keep from bursting into giggles. "'Cept maybe you, Purse."  
  
Ant shook his head, still reeling from the experience. Wasn't every day that you found out your parents were complete creeps. "Nope. Nevah."  
  
Racetrack snagged Mush by the arm. "We'll meetcha back at da lodgin' 'ouse, 'Kay? S'late an' Kloppman won't keep da doors open forever." He glared poignantly at Mush.  
  
"Y-yeah! 'Course! We'll tell Kloppman dat youse is still comin'." Mush followed Race and Blink out of the park.  
  
Ant was left to think, the others having headed back before the trio left. It was a lot to process. Spot and Jack had explained what he had overheard, but he was still shaken. He was an orphan now by default. Where did you go from there?  
  
"Purse?" Jack's voice caught Ant off guard.  
  
"T'ought ya went back wid da uddahs."  
  
"Doubled back ta make sure you was alright."  
  
"Gosh, let's see. I've 'ad m'own parents not recognize me, an' more dan dat, insult me t'night." Ant picked up his pace. "Yessir. I'm "alright"!"  
  
"'Kay, so youse got a reason ta be bittah, but ya got us, at least. Ya _always_ gots us."  
  
"Yeah. I guess I know dat... now."  
  
Silence hung between them as they walked along. There wasn't much else to say. Sometimes the quiet said more than words ever could. Staring up at the stars and taking in the cool night air was more therapeutic than anything Jack could have said at that moment.  
  
"Jack? Dis is gonna sound stupid. 'Ow long 'ave I been 'ere?" Ant broke the silence as they neared the lodging house.  
  
"Hmm. Somethin' like t'ree weeks. Why ya ask?" Jack replied absently.  
  
_THREE WEEKS? Wow. Time sure flies when you're selling newspapers._ Ant was taken aback by how much he had changed in such a short period of time. Hardly seemed possible. "No reason. Jest t'inkin' 'bout 'ow fast t'ings can change."  
  
"People, ya mean?"  
  
"Guess so."  
  
"Maybe youse always wanted somethin' different. Ya wasn't gonna let yerself t'ink dat way, but at night, when ya dream---"  
  
"I don't dream." Ant replied evenly.  
  
"Doncha? We all dream, Poi'se. Some when dey're asleep, an' some out loud fer all ta 'ear."  
  
Ant could have sworn he heard Jack mumble something about Santa Fe under his breath, but brushed it off.  
  
"Da point is, you was unhappy somewheres deep down inside. Given da chance, da real you came out." Jack finished, then smirked. "Listen ta me. I'm soundin' like Dave now fer God sake! All phil'sophical an' stuff."  
  
"Jack--" Ant began.  
  
"COWBOY!! COMIN' IN?! KLOPPMAN'S GONNA LOCK DA DOOR!" Boots bellowed from the top window of the Newsboys Lodging House.  
  
"BE DERE IN A MINUTE!" Jack yelled back and turned to Ant. "What is it?"   
  
_Thanks for everything. I get it now. This IS where I belong._ Ant thought, but tagged Kelly on the arm instead. "Race ya inside!" He took off for the door.  
  
"'Ey! Ya cheater!" Jack chased after him.


End file.
